Fragile
by Awinters25 - TeamAngst
Summary: "When I was in the Circle, love was a game. It gave the templars too much power if there was something you couldn't stand to lose." Anders considers the complications of love in a world full of pain after his fourth failed escape attempt. Rated M. (One shot)


**A/N:** **Warning: This one shot contains some NSFW moments as well as some suicidal thoughts/angst. If you are offended, stop reading now.**

I was hit with an idea last night that wouldn't let me sleep. I was tossing and turning pondering love and sex in Kinloch Hold. How do they manage to relationships with the templars always watching? I'm not talking about just romance, but friendship and rivalry as well. The fear of being caught and punished was probably a good deterrent, but for people like Anders, who somehow manages to still get lucky during these times, I still don't see how it was so easy to get laid. (Especially in Anders' case. The man didn't really have many friends.)

Then I remembered a quote from "The Perks of Being a Wallflower" by Stephen Chbosky that I believe sums up a lot of Anders' feelings during his time in and out of the Tower.

"**_We accept the love we think we deserve." _**

Anders is a tragic and flawed character on so many levels, but he is also emphatically _alone_ for most of his life. Even if he had a group of friends waiting for him back at the Tower, he spent a lot of his time in solitary or running from the templars. I don't believe **he** ever thought he was capable of friendship or love, even with Hawke.

* * *

"**When I was in the Circle, love was a game. It gave the templars too much power if there was something you couldn't stand to lose." **-Anders in Dragon Age II

* * *

Nearly five full months had passed since his fourth failed escape attempt. He had managed to get to Denerim before the templars had caught up to him two weeks later, chained him like a dog and dragged him all the way back to Kinloch Hold. Once at the Tower, he had been punished (the whippings just got more severe each time he ran) before they finally tossed him into a solitary cell.

Anders was sleeping on his bunk, the scars from his most recent punishment exposed to the air. His face was smothered in his pillow as he tried to sleep, but he was finding it impossible. The physical pain had passed some time ago, but the mental anguish was still foremost in his mind. This was his second stint in solitary and it was getting worse. Last time, they had left him alone for his week before letting him out. This time, however, he was in his cold, dark, basement cell for three _months_, with nothing but his morose thoughts to keep him company. He'd spent weeks, _alone_, traversing the forests and plains of Ferelden with no one by his side, but this was different. Out in the world, he could still touch the Fade. He could still dream. But in that small cell, with the wards up and his access to the Fade cut off, Anders had slowly started to lose his mind.

He didn't _want_ to be alone. He just always ended up that way.

With a low sigh, Anders turned his head so that his cheek was pressed into the pillow, watching the rest of the dorm. His amber eyes were free to roam the quiet dormitory as the rest of the apprentices slept. Despite what his mind kept screaming at him in the dark night of the Tower, his eyes found the bunk across from him. Glancing up to the top bed, Anders could just see Katrien Surana's snow white hair falling over the side of the mattress. She was softly breathing in her sleep. He hoped she was dreaming wonderful things. Not thinking about the horrors that awaited her once she opened her eyes.

With a grumble, knowing that sleep was going to evade him this night, Anders pushed off of the mattress and, without bothering to put on his shirt again, shuffled to the door. He listened to the sounds of the Tower with an ear pressed to the wood. Positive that there were no templars in the vicinity of the bedrooms, Anders slipped out and down the hallway without a sound.

The whipping he was given upon his return to the Tower, twenty in total, was up ten from the last time he'd run. The templars hadn't even given him a chance to heal before they threw him into the dungeons_. _It wouldn't have been too bad. If only he hadn't seen Katrien's expression after the lashing. Her bright silver-blue eyes glassy with fresh tears, the look of horror on her face at seeing his exposed wounds. Katrien's face haunted his thoughts for the next ninety days as he lay on the floor of his cell. He had nothing else to do, but think.

Anders found the kitchen a few moments later, dark and quiet. He wasn't sure what time it was, but it was clear that the servants had been gone for hours. Glancing over his shoulder, he verified that he was truly alone before grabbing a bottle of wine and settling down beside a barrel to ponder his dark thoughts.

He was deteriorating. He could feel it. In his blood, the blood that spilled with every lash placed upon his fragile skin, Anders was becoming colder. He was no longer the same carefree and extremely stupid mage he'd been at age twelve. The templars made it impossible to care when all they did was take everything from you. Take your freedom, take your hope, take your love.

_Love: _The one word that scared the shit out of him. Anders had never thought himself capable of love or a even moderate amount of caring. His parents sure hadn't loved him. When he was fifteen, he had begun to plan his first escape attempt when _she_ arrived.

The little elf who would completely flip his world upside down.

Anders closed his eyes as he thought about Katrien. _Kat_. Beautiful, maddening Kat. She was obnoxious, at times downright impossible, but he _loved_ her. Now, four years after meeting her, every time he thought about escaping the Tower, her pixy-like features would appear in his mind and he'd have to banish the feeling of guilt that would overwhelm him. He was leaving _her_ behind to deal with the fallout of his decision. First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir could only protect her so much from the wrath of the templars. Everyone, templars and mages alike, all believed she knew something about his escapes: how he was doing it, where he was going, _when_ he was going to make a break for it. It nearly killed him every time he felt that itch underneath his skin that said he was going to run again... _soon_.

Anders had told her after attempt number three that he was protecting her by not speaking about it. He wouldn't pull her down by involving her. But it didn't matter what he said. He knew he was pulling her down regardless. He was being selfish, he _knew_ that. He wasn't a _complete_ idiot. Running and getting caught was the easy part. Facing _her_ after it was all said and done was so fucking hard. It shouldn't have been. Katrien was his friend. She _understood_. She was never angry at him for running even when she should have been.

But he was breaking her heart. Just like he knew he would. It's what he did. He fucked up everything he touched. Everything he cared about. It was far easier to not care at all.

The templars wouldn't kill him. Irving told had them he wasn't a threat. It didn't stop them from treating him like a maleficar though. With the beatings, the torture, the silence of that damp cell... Then cutting him off from his mana, from the Fade...

Taking a long gulp of the bottle in his hand, Anders tried to clear his head. He couldn't pretend he was ok anymore. It was too exhausting. The fake smiles hurt when they tugged at his lips. His laughter came out harsher as the days went on. The scars that lined his back were getting more pronounced with each subsequent lashing. If it didn't kill him some day soon, he might have to do it himself...

A shuffle not far from where he sat caught his attention, breaking through his thoughts. His eyes sprang open, darting around the darkened room, trying to find the intruder. His body tensed as he waited for the strike that was sure to come.

A figure stood in front of him. Anders couldn't make out much, but as his vision appraised the wintery white hair, the pale skin and thin frame in the dark, his body tensed for another reason. Katrien was only wearing a nightshirt. When did _that _start happening?

Katrien sat down across from him without a word. He stared at her in open terror as she reached forward to grab the wine bottle from his hands. She lifted it to her lips and as she drank, Anders watched her without shame. She was so beautiful. What little light they had came from the moon outside. It shone through the narrow slits that were considered windows in this prison. It cast her in an ethereal glow. Her light locks flowed down her back and Anders knew that they reached the floor as she sat. Setting the bottle down beside her silently, Katrien turned her gaze on him.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, her voice quiet yet light. Her eyes had flickered to his chest and it was at that moment he remembered that _he_ was wearing nothing but his breeches.

Anders knew she wouldn't see his flaming red cheeks in the dark, but he cleared his throat in his discomfort. "Hiding."

Katrien nodded as if she expected the answer. Who knows? Maybe she did. The elf knew Anders better than most. They were both silent for a moment. Katrien staring at the wine bottle besides her. Anders staring at _her_. He was about to ask her what she was doing out of bed when she spoke.

"Can I see them?"

She sounded nervous. Scared, almost.

He shook his head. "You don't want to."

Katrien met his gaze and he flinched at the pleading look she threw him. "I... think I _have_ to."

Anders swallowed around the lump in his throat before getting to his knees. He didn't move nor watch as Katrien got to her feet and walked around him so she could see his scars. He felt her kneel beside him, her hair brushing against his bare feet as she looked at the white scar tissue. Lightly, as if she were afraid to hurt him with her touch, she traced the marks from his shoulder blades to the small of his back. He shivered under the gentle pressure. She counted each one as she followed the line, memorizing the pattern, the amount of times they hurt him.

Then suddenly it stopped.

Confused, and somewhat disappointed, Anders glanced over his shoulder. Katrien met his gaze without hesitation, her eyes shining with tears. It was a fragile moment they shared. One that could easily be shattered by words, by movement. He didn't want to pull his gaze away, but with every second that ticked away, he knew he was falling deeper into something he wasn't ready for.

_Love._

There was that word again. He wasn't ready for it. But then again, he wasn't ready for much of anything.

Anders wasn't sure who had made the first move. She or him... it didn't matter in the end. All that mattered was that she was sitting on his lap, her hands in his shaggy blonde hair, her lips crushing his. When he thought back on it later, he honestly couldn't remember a kiss he'd enjoyed more. He figured that's how you knew it was love. When it was the best experience you'd ever had and though you didn't want it to end, you knew it had to. Eventually.

And that fact _hurt_.

She was straddling him, her nightshirt pulled up to expose her smooth legs. She was pressed up against him and could no doubt feel him getting hard as he held her. Anders knew she was a virgin. He, on the other hand, wasn't. He couldn't remember a time when he was. Regret that he didn't wait for her nearly choked him, but he pushed it down. He found he was getting good at hiding his feelings. It should probably worry him.

His rough hands caressed her leg as he slowly traced the smoothness of her skin. Fingers lightly dusted along her knee up the inside of her thigh and paused right before touching her smallclothes. Katrien pulled her lips away to look at him. Her lips were sore from his punishing kisses and she was breathless. Her eyes were dilated with the passion she felt and Anders knew he couldn't leave her like this. With a smirk, hiding his own nervousness at this _act_, an act of touching the _only_ person he had ever loved, Anders toyed with the laces of the underclothes.

Katrien nodded, one brief nod to let him know she was alright with this. She then pulled his lips to her once more, swallowing any words he might have said in response to her decision. She rubbed against his erection, nearly bringing him to completion just from the movement. Curbing his own reaction, Anders pulled the strings of her smallclothes to release them from her body. Then he touched her.

The wetness that met him nearly undid him again. She was _ready_ for him. She wouldn't stop him when he plunged into her over and over. He would get her to scream the most beautiful things before he finally released...

The thought sobered him. They _couldn't do this. _

Jerking his mouth from hers, he stared at her wide-eyed. What the _fuck_ was he thinking? He _ruined_ everything he touched. He _would not_ ruin Kat.

Katrien looked down at him in concern. "Anders? What's wrong?"

Quickly removing her from his lap, he dumped her on the cold stone floor before scrambling to his feet. Running a hand quickly through his blonde hair, he looked everywhere but where the woman he loved sat. His skin was itching. He needed to get out. He had to _leave_...

"Anders?" Katrien's voice sounded upset and he finally glanced down at her.

Her wide eyes stared up at him, confusion and worry etched in her delicate features. He was hurting her and that hurt _him_, but he wouldn't make the mistake of ruining her life. More than he already had.

"I love you, Kat." He choked out, knowing he wouldn't get the chance to say it to her after this. "I do. I'm sorry. I just- can't."

Anders knew she was crying when he stormed from the kitchen. He could hear the whimpers. It didn't stop him though.

He kept running.

He would never _stop running_.


End file.
